


in my system

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Degradation, Humiliation, In Public, M/M, Omorashi, Trans Male V (Cyberpunk 2077), Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: “V.”The tone of voice goes straight to V’s overworked cock, and he’s no choice but to succumb to his wishes. His head falls as he slides the ruined garments down his thighs, legs wet with his lack of self-control. Another shiver as the cool night air kisses the feverishly hot skin.“Good boy. Gonna fuck you right here like the whore you are,” Johnny coos in his ear.“People can see—”“Then they’ll finally see how much of a stupid whore you are. So busy thinkin’ about cock you don’t care who sees.”
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Male V
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	in my system

**Author's Note:**

> cw: cunt, folds, cock, hole used for V

“Gh-Get the fuck off me, you smarmy piece of shit,” V hisses through clenched teeth, trying to push off the wall of the strip club and throw the other man off his back. Johnny holds fast, however, and if anything, his unfairly strong implant smashes his cheek against the unforgiving brick even harder. 

“And let you off that easy?” Johnny jeers, patronizing in how he ruffles V’s hair with his metal prosthetic. It’s all fun and games to him, but V finds himself snarling and huffing like a bothered dog, trying his hardest to snap at the rockstar.

Growling, V attempts to jab him in the ribs with his elbow, kick his feet out, anything to dislodge the physical manifestation of a migraine. Instead, Johnny captures V’s right wrist and traps it behind his back, wrenched back high enough to ache in his shoulder socket. 

Of all times he picked to play games, it was now— middle of some rather important reconnaissance, tucked behind a dumpster in a stripclub alleyway, with dusk marking the start of the busiest time in Night City—

and V had to piss.

Had to the entire time he was in the stripclub, but whenever he would breeze past the restrooms, they were always chock full with rowdy customers unable to pay someone else to get their rocks off for them, or customers regretting their deep pockets and the bar’s even deeper inventory. That, and it wasn’t necessarily hindering him; if anything, it spurred him forward. He probably talked to every single person inside that joint and extracted as much information as he could within a startlingly short amount of time, hurried along by his body’s natural urges biting his heels.

“Johnny, I’m fucking serious.”

“I am too, I want to watch you  _ squirm.”  _

He has to be trying to pick at V’s nerves, heightened out of self-consciousness. It wasn’t normal for Johnny to manifest himself and gather enough energy to be corporeal, and especially not in public. That, and he sounded deathly serious, using the tone he gets when swaying V from making stupid desicions.

V bites down another growl and shuffles his weight anxiously between his feet. Staying mobile was the only thing really keeping him from excusing himself out the back door and finding the nearest convenience store or gas station. He’s got maybe another half hour left in him before he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself. 

“Cut it out, dickhead. I’m not joking.”

“ _ You’re  _ the joke,” Johnny says, and V can hear his wry grin in his words, “you look about ready to piss yourself because you  _ forgot  _ to.”

“You know I couldn’t, fucking cocksucker,” V spits, clenching his jaw hard enough for his teeth to creak as he wars against their natural processes. He doesn’t know the last time he played it this close before, not something he particularly enjoys doing. 

Johnny presses on him, this time with his person. It makes the space ten times hotter than it should be and it makes V go still as he’s flush between the brick wall and Johnny’s unbudging body. 

“If this is some sort of sick fantasy you got—”

“You can now,” Johnny taunts, his voice puffed against the shell of his ear. It elicits a shiver as well as a flush of color across V’s cheeks, easily masked by the obnoxious hot pink of the neon stripclub sign.

“Fuck off,” V bristles, now resisting with his entire might. Somehow, for mere data, Johnny is as solid as one of the club’s bouncers. Shifting, pushing his wrangled arm back against Johnny’s chest and trying to find some room with his hips if just to stifle that rising urge with inertia, V finds himself going stockstill as Johnny responds very simply to his struggles:

Pressing his hips forward in a slow, languid movement, he grinds against V’s ass without an ounce of shame.

That one movement nearly knocks V’s air clean from his lungs. As effective as if Silverhand shoved him to the ground or punched him in the chest, and just as debilitating. Instinctively of course, he presses his ass back against the semi-firm outline in the rockstar’s pants. 

“Can’t even help yourself, V. You roll over like a bitch.”

“Ngh… shut up,” he manages. Even in spite of his pushing back against Johnny’s aggression, he makes no move to wrench himself away from him. Another roll of the hips.

“I don’t hear you denying it.”

There’s a smug lilt to his voice, borderline musical in comparison to his downright growl of a speaking voice. It grates on V. He knows he’s got him right where he wants him. 

A warm hand finds purchase just above the feathery start of V’s treasure trail after pulling his shirt from his pantline. It makes his heart skip up to his throat, and he forces his head back to catch a glimpse at Johnny through the inky sunglasses. 

“ _ Here _ ?”

“No. But it’s cute that you think I’ll let you get off at all.”

Where he expects Johnny’s hand to dip into the waist of his boxers, it instead is pressed into the gentle swell of his lower belly. V’s breath catches in his throat and he straddles the knife’s edge of too much pressure, desperate not to succumb to the excruciating temptation of short-term relief. 

His muscles give a weak tremor, trying to fight against the force of Johnny’s torment. They feel almost starved of oxygen with how weakly they protest, as though all of his body wants nothing more than to give in to the prodding. In his hyper-focused state, devoting most of his higher functioning to not pissing his pants in public, he pays no mind that it could very well be Johnny’s doing. Encouraging him to give in—bullying him into it. 

“Fuckin’—leave me alone.”

“What’s in that for me?”

“Just…  _ please _ .”

“Begging already?”

V takes the opportunity granted by Johnny’s cockiness to shove back against him. Not only does the force just barely cause the rockstar to take a step back, but the jostling redoubles the effort needed not to lose his bladder. A chuckle reverberates in the air next to V’s ear. 

“F-fuck,” V hisses through his teeth. His waterline stings as a few overwhelmed tears well up, clinging to his lashes and making his embarrassed blush burn his ears. Brows furrowed, eyes pinched shut, V’s mustering all his willpower into controlling himself. 

As much as he can, given that Johnny has now taken to cruelly massaging his lower stomach, hiking his hips back and forcing him largely immobile. Between the rockstar’s hips and his hand braced against the bricks to prevent him from cutting his cheek on the rough texture, V has no leeway to wriggle and squirm away from his torment. 

“You close?” Johnny mocks. 

“T’punching your lights out?” V bites before a choked noise gets lodged in his throat. 

“How sweet.”

Every unkind jostle forces V closer to losing himself to his body’s desperate pleas. He finds at least one silver lining, and that’s Johnny can’t tell how damp his briefs have grown in the struggle to keep everything in. On the opposite side of the coin, the growing warmth caused by the stray drops escaping him in his jeans makes it near impossible to keep it up.

Without thinking, his leg kicks off the ground— trying to find  _ any way _ to alleviate the pressure on his guts. It’s a jerking motion, similar to that of a dog, as he openly pants and growls down at the litter-covered asphalt. He can only imagine the picture he paints.

Behind him, a rumbling chuckle as Johnny watches his host squirm pathetically. Now entirely filled out, he finds great joy in forcing V to grind back against him with his unfairly-strong implant guiding him using intense pressure over his bladder. 

“Please. Johnny, fuck—“ V tries, his voice catching in his chest as a whimper works itself free, “please, just let me go.”

“I gotcha begging and whining like a stupid ditz,” Johnny growls, twisting his wrist and wringing a pained gasp from V, “you think I’m just going to let you off easy because you asked nicely?”

“Please—”

“Look at you. You love this, V. How  _ full _ you feel,” Johnny hisses into his ear before a breathy laugh hits the shell of it, “you’re fucking pathetic.”

Shamed tears easily spill free now, rolling down his burning cheeks as his head feels full of cotton. Uselessly, he shakes his head in denial even as his hips roll into the cradle of Johnny’s palm against his bladder. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, or why it’s slowly starting to make his body glow with arousal and warmth, but he keeps at it until Johnny isn’t holding his wrist to his shoulder blade anymore. 

“Good boy,” Johnny praises, a rarity that V soaks up like parched soil. His words are still tinged with acute hunger and abstract disgust, and it makes V’s head swim as he simply groans lowly, voice wet with tears. Now Johnny looms over his back, bracing his forearm above V’s head and speaking down to him as he simply watches the younger hump his hand. 

“Don’t you just want to let go, V?” Johnny all but purrs against him. His own eyes flutter as V’s grinding back against him intensifies. The shorter man is torn between climax and overcoming the mental hurdle necessary to relieve himself in public. Each second that ticks by apparently makes the latter more attractive. 

V can’t even muster up a dissent anymore. Both of them know why: every prod of his belly forces him to devote all of his attention to avoid succumbing to Johnny’s insistence. The slightest wavering of willpower means the debasement of his dignity at Silverhand’s say-so. That, and the vague twinge of pleasure twists his guts up in increasing urgency, only further obfuscating which way his own will bends. Maybe he  _ does _ want this.

Now the bastard decides to let his hand dip into his boxers, immediately going for his over-sensitive cock. His fingers stroke over V’s heat, earning him a barely-muted keen and arch of the back. His own hand snaps to Johnny’s over the cloth barrier and he hinges at the hips, squirming to contain himself. V’s brow furrows and he whimpers desperately.

“I can’t— I can’t.  _ Johnny _ ,” he warns, head now bouncing against the wall. The prickle of cold brick doesn’t even register as the grit irritates his cheek. He is far too focused on avoiding catastrophe while his body is forced to betray him. 

Johnny isn’t even particularly fast or cruel as he strokes V’s cock over, but each minor movement feels like a punch to the stomach. Shivering with increased fervidity, his boundary is pushed to the breaking point. Instantly, the stimulation ceases. It leaves V  _ just _ before the point of no return. The fullness aches, taunts him with the relief that he knows he can’t have yet, even as he feels swollen and yearning for mercy. 

“For someone that protests as much as you,” he says, withdrawing his hand from the already-damp fabric, “you seem to like it a hell of a lot. You don’t get to piss until I say so.”

“ _ Too much. _ ”

“You held it this long.”

More squirming as V puts pressure on his crotch, this time as a concerted effort to not wet himself without any outside stimulation. On the cliff’s edge of relief, he’s not even sure where the extra reserve of determination is coming from. In his right mind, he might hazard a guess at it being a twisted desire to please Johnny. 

A soft snort of amusement, and Silverhand is leaning in to growl in his ear again. “Such a fuckin’ pig. You’d probably like it if I filled you up myself. I can see everything you’re thinkin’, V, and you’re  _ disgusting _ .”

“I just gotta—”

“Don’t.”

Groaning like he’s been gutted, V can’t even bring himself to care that he’s drooling through clenched teeth and wetting the collar of his shirt with tears. 

As if that’ll matter, seeing what Johnny has in store for him. He’s resigned to the inevitable and looming fate of his jeans already. The only thing he can bring himself to care about is getting Johnny’s approval— something he never thought he’d catch himself dead doing. 

“Think you can cum first?” Johnny asks sincerely, hand edging back beneath the hem of his briefs. Whether he believes it himself or not, V nods vigorously, desperate to just get Johnny’s hands on him again as if it’ll coerce his body into compliance. 

Warm fingers connect with his cock again, and it forces a weak moan from V as he unthinkingly pushes his hips forward into the contact. It results in a quick reprimand, a hissed warning for him to keep still that goes unheeded. Pressing down on the root of his short length, Johnny rubs his cock in agonizingly slow circles that drive V mad. 

It’s almost infuriating, how Johnny knows just what to do to pull V’s seams apart and unravel him. No one else has ever managed to jerk him off the exact way he can, that can bring him to release in record time, and he knows that’s because Johnny knows his body objectively better than he knows himself. 

Not that he finds himself biting the hand that jerks him, as the desperate weight in his guts transform into an uncomfortable coil of arousal. It helps to alleviate the threatening urge to relieve himself for the time being, the closer to his end he edges. 

“Johnny—“ he gasps, smearing his jacket sleeve with drool as he turns to muffle himself as that tight coil in his belly pulls taut. 

“C’mon, V,” Johnny goads, hand moving faster as the younger starts to shiver once more under different circumstance.

Just as the waves of his orgasm start to ripple through him, the cold shock of reality hits him just as it becomes too late to stop it. Unable to control himself in the throes of pleasure, that finely honed willpower he had clung into for so long snaps. 

“Shit—“ V whimpers, voice warbling, “ _ Johnny— _ “

“Atta boy,” Johnny hums, the hand still in his briefs shifting down to spread him open as piss starts to heat his jeans. First instinct tells him to push Johnny’s hand away, to save him from being caught as crossfire in the mess he’s making, but his hand remains stuck fast and V ends him holding his wrist in place with a crushing grip. A morbid helping hand as he soils himself making his twin releases all that much more intense. 

It’s too hot, his entire body alight with excited nerves as hours worth of holding come to a head. The strength of his climax continues to make him quiver and reflexively hump Johnny’s hand, making that much more of a mess. It’s almost intoxicating, how it makes his head swim with the rush of endorphins as his body exuberantly thanks him.

“Pathetic,” Johnny taunts, drawing his fingers through V’s folds, then the mess staining the demim of V’s pants. The overstimulation is heaven to the smaller man. He’s unable to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head in the wake of their escapades, legs shaking and struggling to keep him upright as Johnny continues to crowd into his space. 

“Fuck’n nasty,” V’s able to spit, shuddering bodily at the reminder of Silverhand’s own arousal pressing into the small of his back. 

“Not done with you yet. Stand up right.”

Even with all of his protest, V obeys. Pinpoints of clarity pierce through the fog of arousal and post-orgasmic haze, bringing with them flashes of self-consciousness and disgust, but they’re laved over easily as Johnny’s will seeps into his own, layering over it and obscuring it like oil paint.

“Pants down. Let’s see what kind of mess you made of yourself.”

“Freak.”

“V.”

The tone of voice goes straight to V’s overworked cock, and he’s no choice but to succumb to his wishes. His head falls as he slides the ruined garments down his thighs, legs wet with his lack of self-control. Another shiver as the cool night air kisses the feverishly hot skin. 

“Good boy. Gonna fuck you right here like the whore you are,” Johnny coos in his ear. 

“People can see—”

“Then they’ll finally see how much of a stupid whore you are. So busy thinkin’ about cock you don’t care who sees.”

As he speaks, his fingers grace V’s hole, testing for a response. They certainly get one, seeing as the man bears down on them immediately for the next release already tingling vaguely in his belly. Fuck.

“You’d probably take my piss, too, huh? Everything you can. You can’t get enough of me.”

“F-fuck off.”

Johnny gives an amused chuckle as he shifts to free himself from the confines of his own pants. V does nothing to struggle away, nor anything to give any indication whatsoever that this isn’t precisely how he wants the night to end. So he’ll give him what he wants. 

“Want it, V? Want me to fill you up?”

“Want you to shut  _ up _ .”

“Not happening. Spread your legs like a good girl, baby.”

“Bastard,” he squeaks out. V takes a wider stance as he’s told, and immediately, the blunt head of Johnny’s cock is resting at his entrance. “Gimme a second—”

“You got so much practice takin’ it, thought you’d already be ready for it.”

“Johnny—” V grits before sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth as the rockerboy pushes into him without warning. The stretch of his cock makes him shudder and groan, head hanging as he squeezes his eyes shut tight against the discomfort. 

“Shit. Take it like you were made for it, V,” Johnny muses as slowly settles into his tight heat. The patronizing praise garners a meager growl from the smaller, but any attitude remains residual as he focuses on his breathing instead of a biting comeback. 

Nestled with his full length inside V, Johnny finally allows him a moment to accommodate to the heavy weight of his cock. The slick of V’s own piss and cum makes up for the lack of preparation beforehand, making the minute burn of taking Johnny’s endowment more pleasurable than he ought to express. Silverhand doesn’t need anymore reinforcement for his bad behaviors.

The firm metal of Johnny’s implant finds purchase on his hip, pushing his jacket and shirt out of the way for a better hold on V’s body. The other settles warmly on his back, fisting his shirt and forcing V to straighten with the tension. The neon of the sign hits him in the eyes as he casts a glance to the side, peeking out over the dumpster they’ve ducked behind and out at the now-bustling street. Anyone at any moment can round the corner for a secluded smoke break or phone call and catch V with his pants around his ankles, covered in his own soil.

So much for his street cred.

The thoughts are pushed out of his head as Johnny draws out and decides to stop offering anymore generosity if V is going to waste it on useless worry. The rockerboy huffs a laugh as V reflexively tightens around him with each long stroke, milking him for what he’s worth. Hot and tight, Johnny knows that he wouldn’t be able to savor the moment if he wanted to—V easily takes his place as the best lay he’s ever had, being insatiable and pathetically beautiful the moment he gets a cock in him. Even when in V’s little haven of an apartment, Johnny much prefers ruining the younger. Making him break and lose his hold on that tough and untouchable exterior is much more enjoyable than taking his sweet time and savoring the moment, knowing that it won’t be seventy-two hours before he’s crawling back.

Pitching his hips forward, he doesn’t give V the luxury of a steady build-up. Not that V would want that, no—he likes when he’s handled like nothing more than a brainless toy, without an ounce of control or mercy. He goes stupid whenever Johnny shoves him around, drops him to his knees with a tight hand in his hair, or forces his legs open for him.

“You could pass for a doll, so stupid and hungry for cock anywhere you can get it,” Johnny sneers, not faltering as he pounds into V. Throat too occupied trying to stifle the needy moans and gasps being forced out of him, V can only glare back at him. If it can be called a glare, with his eyes half-lidded and brows pinched together as he bites his tongue, desperate to be quiet.

“Nah. This cunt—” Johnny says, punctuating his words with a piercing thrust that makes V groan straight through his attempted quiet, “is  _ mine. _ ”

“Fu-uck,” V whines, barely able to stifle his keening in the face of Johnny unrelentingly punishing his cunt. 

He almost allows a  _ ‘yours’ _ to roll off his tongue, but his higher mind disallows it. Undoubtedly, Johnny is aware of the thought before it even crosses the threshold of cognizance for V, but he doesn’t need to hear it verbalized. Too much of an ego boost for the borderline narcissist. 

“That’s it. Lemme hear it, V. Let everyone know you’re my little joytoy.”

“I’m not—”

A cruel little chuckle from Johnny interrupts the protest. He snaps his hips forward again and works one more mewl from V, rolling his hips in small motions to truly fuck himself into the younger man. 

“You’re whatever I tell you to be, V. And you look an awful lot like my own personal cumdump. Or is that too good for you?”

“Too much—”

“You’re right. Gotta start smaller. Maybe you’re my urinal instead. That sound better?”

Johnny can practically see the way V’s eyes roll into the back of his head at the words. He hadn’t anticipated such a welcome response; expected V to give a scoff of disgust and shove him off, but he simply bears down on Silverhand’s girth. 

Luckily, V seems out of it enough not to question the logistics, too eager to be made a mess of. Made  _ more _ of a mess of. 

“It’s almost pathetic, V. How much you want me to be in control, no matter how much you say you hate it. You like me in the driver’s seat.”

V hangs his head as Johnny pulls almost out, tip catching on his rim. This is the worst part—the anticipation, determining whether Silverhand will actually follow through with his words, or if he’s simply taunting to get a rise out of him. 

Plus, it’s hard to deny the delighted twists in his gut at the threat of Johnny pissing in him, just to add to the ruined clothes pooled at his ankles. Though with some latency, he knows Johnny’s scented out his eagerness to experiment. V does nothing to struggle as he’s split open by Johnny’s cock yet again, taking it to the root. 

“Ready?” It’s unusual, getting a word of warning before Johnny continues—typically, he takes what he wants when he wants it. V can only give a half-nod.

He’s buried deep, seemingly deeper than he’s ever been before, piercing V to the core. It’s a comfortable fullness—familiar almost. And it becomes  _ hot  _ in an instant, welling from his inside outwards as Silverhand stakes his claim like a feral hound. An obscene, albeit quiet, sigh of relief is all V’s ears will let him hone in on as Johnny keeps true to his word. 

The rockstar lets his head fall back as V’s hole overflows. Much of it trickles down V’s thighs, a warm reminder of his status as a mere hole for Johnny, but some of it spatters on the ground. Silverhand tsks in his ear. 

“Wasting it? So ungrateful, V.”

Clenching his fists against the brick wall, he groans brokenly as he watches between his legs, almost dumbfounded. Yeah, there was no salvation for his jeans, or even his boots, not as he watches plentiful rivulets of piss soak into the fabric where it isn’t dripping onto the concrete. 

Johnny fills him up to the brim, weighing V down and making his knees unsteady at the absolute fullness inside him. Something turns off, some sort of back reserve of rational thinking he was holding on to, and all he can fixate on is that wonderfully disgusting fullness. It pushes V’s stomach out just so with its volume, and that sight alone is enough to render him senseless. 

“S-sorry,” V ekes out without thinking, bearing down around Johnny’s cock in an attempt to keep everything in. He doesn’t seem cognizant of his tongue anymore— Silverhand just pissed in him and he’s  _ apologizing.  _

“Fuck,” Johnny swears quietly as he finally milks the last few droplets out, simply reveling in the overwhelmingly hot cunt around him. If he could, he’d keep him like this all the time; maddeningly full and drunk off Johnny’s cock. Couldn’t think of any groupie he’s ever fucked this eager to please.

Just so, he feels V’s legs trembling, knees struggling to stay locked in the face of such stimulation. He offers assistance, his cold prosthetic hand coming to grab V beneath the knee and wrench his leg up like a dog. It causes them to shift, and the tight seal around Johnny’s cock breaks as he pulls back just so look at the younger. V’s hiding in his jacket sleeve, face obscured with his red ears peeking out.

“You’re fucking disgusting, V. Took every drop of piss and your hole is still begging for more,” Johnny sneers, testingly grinding in deep. 

Each minute movement pushes more of the hot liquid out, gushing and splashing down to the ground below. Johnny would be lying if he tried to claim he isn’t just as intoxicated by the sight as V seems to be. Though he’s also much less worried about backsplash, given his ability to simply will it away if need be. 

V is only able to withstand a few more thrusts before his trembling legs finally give out and he’s fully reliant on Silverhand to support his overtaxed body. 

“Easy now,” Johnny murmurs. It’s uncharacteristically soothing, considering their current configuration. And he’s still waiting for the final show, when V is unable to hold his own contribution any longer. The man gone limp now only offers a muted groan. 

Mentally, he battles with his conscience. Any other time he’d happily push V to his limit, but toe the line of actually casting him over. He’s no desire to drive the younger away just because he never got his own rocks off. Another time, he’d take the effort to pump V full of cum before spilling into him—for now, he’s had plenty of attention to keep him satiated for a while. 

V’s legs regain some stability in the lack of excessive stimulation, and Johnny helps him recover his balance, though Jonny never fully pulls out. He’s coming back into his consciousness again just as Silverhand decides to make himself scarce again. 

In an instant, the mess drops out of him to join the ruined denim, and V can’t hold back the soft whimper that passes his lips. Empty and cold. 

Son of a  _ bitch _ . Johnny fucking would leave him alone to get home on his own. He’d be lucky to catch a cab like this, and he sure as hell isnt getting into his own car like this, even if it is a beater. 

Well, for all the times he’s stretched his neck out for Delamain, the AI taxi can virtually swallow and stomach this one ride. After all, if the Excelsior package offers funeral services then it shouldn’t be too much to ask to look at the road and not ask any questions about V’s current state.

Grimacing as he stoops down and grabs his ruined jeans and briefs, V pulls them up with some room to spare. In the moment, it was exhilarating and worth the mess, but having to sit and stew in his decisions is as unpleasant as it is mortifying. 

The thought crosses his mind that he really should start packing extra clothes, maybe carry a bag with something to change in to, seeing as every time Johnny decides to surface V winds up bloody, covered in liquor, or in a puddle of piss. But that’d only encourage the rocker. 

The line doesn’t ring more than once before Delamain greets him; as eager to please as any other taxi in the city, just with more lenience. 

“Hey, uh… got a favor to ask ya.”

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)
> 
> title song: https://open.spotify.com/track/2KSeDCcvzVebdoIjUSJKC0


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